Tag: Portland

My Last Days in America: China Diaries

Published on by An Accidental Vagabond4 Comments
Portland, Oregon night city scape.
Photo by Tabitha Mort on Pexels.com

Leaving Portland, Oregon

I’m what you call between employment. I need to make a small amount of money last a couple of months in two countries before my new job begins. I’m going to be a teacher. In China. I don’t know what that will be like, but hopefully in the next year I will be able to expound on this experience.

The journey started over a week ago. I ended my job, left my room in the house where I rented space, and I left Portland, OR.

Three women bundled in jackets posing on the beach in front of Haystack rock in Cannon Beach, Oregon.
An Oregon coastal January with friends

I’ve lived in Portland for almost thirteen years. It would be thirteen years’ on the 11th, but I didn’t quite make it. I had always had a love-hate relationship with the city. I loved the people I became friends with, I loved the easiness of living, I loved the beautiful scenery and the fresh woodsy air, but there was something I disliked too. It was a something that I could ever put my finger on and still can’t. A feeling of not really fitting in. I could never really make things “work” in Portland. I found that finding the job that was in line with my career dreams was unreachable except through volunteering (which I did but it never or rarely turned to pay) romantic relationships seemed impossible, and creatively I lumbered along like a bog sloth. I was complacent and I didn’t create, and I couldn’t break out of the rut. Yes, yes, I know this is not Portland’s problem it’s mine, but all the same, the dislikes compelled me to leave. To become uncomfortable.

I left Portland on the fifth of August. Most of my personal items were sold or given away. I’ve stored some boxes of books and photos, two small items of furniture, and various sentimental knick-knacks at a friend’s house (my former roommate/landlord). The contents of my life can literally fill a small car. I’ve packed two large pieces of luggage each weighing just under 50lbs. I have a carry on, my laptop, and a purse. These items will be my possessions for the next year.

A Road Trip From Portland to San Fransisco

In order to officially and legally work in China I had to go to the consulate in San Francisco to pick up my visa. This made for a great excuse to take a road trip from Portland to San Francisco where I could stop in a small college city called Chico to visit my mom.

My good friend and I decided to drive down to California together. It was her ideal really. She said it was a great excuse to visit her family, and also nothing is more fun than a road trip. My friend, and I are both Portland transplants. Both of us are Northern California natives, so a trip to California is also a visit to our places of birth.

A woman in dark sunglasses standing in from of a tree in front of glassy Crater Lake in Oregon.
Crater lake and me.

Crater Lake Resurfaces Memories of the Dead

We stopped for a night in Crater Lake and camped. The night air was warm and smokey due to the fires in Southern Oregon. We made a small contained fire and ate snacks. We made vodka cocktails mixed with grapefruit juices manually squeezed from grapefruits, with added bing cherries and cherry juice. All of these items were left over from my going away party. We drank our cocktails in front of the fire. Cocktails and camping in Crater Lake seem contradictory to me like the two don’t belong. We needed beer or a bottle of whiskey. Vodka never struck me as a camping drink, but there are no rules.

In the morning we drove to the lodge and walked to one of the many viewing points. We walked on a hiking path to Discovery Point, and there we silently stared at the crystal water that reflected the clouds. The line between earth and sky was blurred and my thoughts drifted to my friend Sue who died six years ago. It was Sue who convinced me to move to Portland in the first place, and on our drive up from Chico, CA we stopped in Crater Lake. I hadn’t been to Crater Lake since that trip 13 year’s ago. Now, I was leaving and I would never see Sue again. I knew I wouldn’t see her again when I got the news of her death, but sometimes I forget she’s really gone and not just traveling. Death can be like that sometimes. You forget, but then you remember. You remember and you feel the loss, again.

It was hot and smokey like we were driving into desolation. The hazy sky reminded me of images of China’s cancer villages. Rarely a blue sky I was told. I’m hoping that it is not as thick as this burning air.

Northern California

In truth, I never thought I would leave California, but life happens and sometimes your roads take you to places you did not expect to go.

Shasta

In Shasta we took a detour to Whiskey Town Lake. We set up a make shift picnic and split a beer and ate cherries and chips. I waded into the water that was warm. The red clay beneath the water swirled under my feet and turned it pink, but only when I moved. I wanted to swim, but my suit was packed and I knew from many childhood experiences that the clay stained your clothing.

Paradise

My home town of Paradise in northern California is in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. It gets hot and dry in the summer, and sometimes we’d get snow in the winter. My father left Paradise when I was seven or eight, but my mom lived there until her 50’s then she later moved to Chico which is only 20 miles west of Paradise. I didn’t get to make it to Paradise before I heading to San Fransisco, since my parents no longer live there and most of my friends have moved away, but I did visit Chico to spend time with my mom.

Five children sitting in the dirt in front of a dilapidated house. From left to right: A white blonde girl in a summer dress, a dark haired girl, a blonde white boy, a brown haired girl with white complexion, and a Mexican/black girl in overalls.
A group of seven kids posing in front of a river. Four kids are standing and they all have their arms around each other. From left to right: a blonde, white, boy, topless and wearing blue jeans; a dark haired, Latina girl with a white blouse; a black boy with short hair is topless in blue jeans, and a white girl with shoulder length blonde hair in a white blouse and blue jeans. Three younger children are sitting on the rocks. From left to right: a white blode girl in a dress blowing a balloon, a dark haired boy with an olive complexion in a blue shirt and shorts, and a Mexican girl with curly hair covering her face, she is dressed in a dress.
A man with a red beard and wearing a tank top and jeans is watering a garden with his young daughter standing at his side.
A close-up of a man with long red hair and a beard holding his young daughter that looks like she fell because she had blood on her nose.
A sepia faded photo of a woman and her young child.
My Life in Paradise, CA, 1970s

Chico

We drove the rest of the way to Chico, and spent a night with my mother. That evening we went to a bar I used to frequent when I was a student at Chico State. It’s always fun to be new in a small town, even though you had actually lived there in the past. I spent my teenage years hanging around downtown Chico from time to time, but the places my teen self would go are gone. I spent five years of my twenties, my college years, going to bars and restaurants, and bookstores, and record stores, seeing bands, and running into people I knew, but those days are in the past. The places I used to frequent are gone or have changed. The bands are gone, and the friends are gone and the kids I knew have kids. Yet, this old bar named Duffy’s that catered to the theatre crowed was still there. It was there, but I was different. I moved and grew older. I sat for the sake of nostalgia, in this bar, where I spent one too many days during my spring finals, but it was as if I had never been there before.

The Entrance to Sierra National Forest picnic grounds. Red Bud.
Photo by Guy Hurst on Pexels.com

Five Days with Mom

In the morning my friend said good-bye, and the reality of my actual life change hit. Although, only subtly because I had decided to stay with my mom and staying with her is like nothing has changed. I’ve been here for five day’s now, and tomorrow I will see an old friend, my oldest. A friend I met when we were eleven or twelve, and I will spend the night in my hometown of Paradise, and then on the eleventh we drive to San Francisco, and that is where things will begin to take hold. So, I did stay in Paradise after all.

The Golden Gate Bridge over the San Francisco Bay.
Photo by zahid lilani on Pexels.com

Finally, San Francisco for the Visa

In San Francisco, I have that final step left to take before I get on the plane to China. My visa. It has been difficult getting my paperwork from China in order for me to apply for the visa, but it is all finally here waiting for me at a friend’s house in San Francisco.

So, This is Change.

Two days ago I felt fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of the plane flight, fear of being lost. Today is calm. Excitement hasn’t hit yet. Maybe, I don’t understand what I’m doing yet. I know I don’t understand because I don’t know what I’m doing.

Three people in a kitchen during halloween. A man with a viking costume and a skull painted face stares at the camera as the two women in the background hug. One woman is dressed in red with white face paint, and the other is dressed in street clothes, but wears a crown.
A woman dressed like Little Red Riding Hood holds a basket as she looks walks though the woods.
A woman with wavy blonde hair stands under a string of lights.
Four women in Halloween costumes posing for the camera.
Halloween photo of two women. One woman is dressed as Alice in Wonderland and the other who has her arms wrapped around Alice is dressed like a bloody dog.
I always thought it was a bloody rabbit come to find out it was a mad puppy
A band poster for the band, Our Hero George.
Three women in a basement drinking beers.
The Band
Life in Portland was a lot of fun

What is the saying? I have no idea what is happening next and I’m excited about it.

I prefer the line from Sue’s favorite movie Almost Famous:

It’s all happening.

How to Fundraise Using Performance and Art

Published on by An Accidental Vagabond2 Comments

Why am I Raising Funds?

I was accepted into The Attic’s Antheneum program, but I don’t have the money to pay for it. It is an alternative to a MFA. It is still not an easy program to get accepted into, but it is a lot more affordable than a MFA program. However, I still don’t have the money to pay for it. After speaking with a friend, she suggested that I have a fundraiser. I felt a little uncomfortable at first asking people to give me money for a program that would only benefit me. It seemed too selfish a request, but my friend convinced me that I could do a fundraiser for myself. That it wasn’t an extraordinary thing to do. She also offered to help.

What Kind of Fundraiser

I am producing a variety show. A real vaudevillian callback. I have an opera singer, a burlesque dancer, some music, a comedian, and I will be performing three readings. I will be reading one spoken word, one monologue and a bit from my novel. I put together the program, the schedule, and found people to donate their talent and time. I also found a place that was willing to offer up their space.

Promoting When You Feel You are an Imposter

Promoting is a huge part of the process and I am not the best at self promoting. Yet, I have to promote in order to get people to come to my fundraiser. How else do people know what you are doing ,and what it is they have the opportunity to see.

I have terrible imposter syndrome, so having this fundraiser and promoting it is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. If I wasn’t the main star and the subject and the needy, I could do it no problem. Since I am the star and it is about me, its more difficult for me to promote, because, and I’m sorry to admit this because it reveals the depths of my vulnerability, I just don’t think I’m worth much. I know, terrible to say, but I have a near zero level of self-esteem when it comes to my writing, art, photography– anything I create. Which I suppose is the definition of imposter syndrome. I’m trying though. I’m posting it all right here.

This is the first time I have ever done anything like this. A show about me for me. However, I have a lot of talented friends who will also be performing. Through all my insecurities, I believe the audiences is going to get a good show. For the promotion, I did a bunch of tongue in cheek promo pictures for my invite.

A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in the middle of a road. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She is laughing as she holds a notebook, a pen and an umbrella over her shoulder.
A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in next to a garden. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She looks away from the camera smiling at someone out of the frame. She holds a notebook and a pen.
A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in next to a garden. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She looks away from the camera speaking to someone out of the frame. She holds a notebook and a pen.
A medium close up of a woman in profile. She is in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair, brown framed glasses and she is holding a clear umbrella with a koi fish print. She is dressed in a bright red sweater. She is looking at a notebook.
A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in the middle of a road. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She looks at the camera as she holds a notebook, a pen and an umbrella over her shoulder.
A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in the middle of a road. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She is writing in a black notebook as she holds an umbrella over her shoulder.
A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in the middle of a road. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She holds a pen to her lips as she looks off in contemplation. She has a notebook, and an umbrella over her shoulder.
The writer
A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in the middle of a road. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She is writing in a black notebook as she holds an umbrella over her shoulder.
A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in the middle of a road. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She looks at the camera as she holds a notebook, a pen and an umbrella over her shoulder.
What does a writer look like? A photo shoot for the Fundraiser invite

Don’t Short Change the Muse

The name of the show is, Don’t Short Change the Muse. It comes from something William Burroughs once said. It is on the 22nd of June and will be happening here in Portland. I’m not sure how many Portland people read this post, but if you want to come you are invited. The info is at the bottom of this post.

A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in the middle of a road. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She holds a pen to her lips as she looks off in contemplation. She has a notebook, and an umbrella over her shoulder.
The writer
A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in the middle of a road. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She is writing in a black notebook as she holds an umbrella over her shoulder.
A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in the middle of a road. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She looks at the camera as she holds a notebook, a pen and an umbrella over her shoulder.
A woman in her early 30's with blonde shoulder length hair is sitting on a chair in the middle of a road. She wears glasses and is dressed in a bright red sweater, a brown knee length skirt, and brown leggings. Her small heel shoes are black and white houndstooth. She is laughing as she holds a notebook, a pen and an umbrella over her shoulder.
We narrowed it down to these four.

The Final Invitation

In the end we decided to scrap the profile pictures and go with something else.

Don’t Short Change the Muse

Come join me and guests for one night at Bar Carlo for a variety show of readings, poetry, music, vaudeville, a couple loose cannons, opera and burlesque.
Help Adrienna raise tuition money for the Attic’s The Atheneum.
There will be a silent auction with donations from the following artists: and businesses:

Lucy’s Table, Presents of Mind, Tasi, Seasons K. Designs, From the Reliquary, SmashCuts, Artist Jen Smith, Jesse Jacob Young Photographer, Silk Rose Acupuncture, Technology is Real, Luscious Jewelry and more…

All funds go to Adrienna’s tuition.

A Sliding Scale Entrance fee of $5 to $15 dollars (no one will be turned away).

Doors open at 7:00p.m. show starts at 8:00 p.m.

A special thank you to Bar Carlo for the space.

Help make a great writer and help support a craftsperson. Writing like all other arts is a craft to be cultivated and nurtured. Writing done well is about community, it is about life.

An antique typewriter on a desk with worn books and written letters.